I do not know a sweeter sound

Than rain upon the thirsty ground;

A lovelier sight I’ll never see

Than sunlight on a cherry tree;

I cannot feel a gentler hand

Than nature’s on a temperate land.


There may be tunes as yet unheard,

That will confound the listener’s word;

There may be beauties to eclipse

The glories of the Apocalypse;

There may be hands as soft as snow

To place upon my fevered brow.


Let them be heard, be seen, be felt;

They cannot my proud spirit melt

As does the unconsidered art

With which sweet nature plays her part,

And the wind that whispers in the trees

Is lovelier than man’s melodies.


And that which comes because it must,

Divinely raised from fertile dust

To serve some purpose in a scheme,

Be it as fragile as a dream,

Can fill the mind with untold joy

That man can never quite destroy.


And man himself was made to serve,

And give springs of life and verve;

Fulfilling most when most attune,

To the high will of God Triune,

More lovely than the loveliest flower

When dedicated to that Power.


Weekly Times  18.8.61